


Feel You

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff, I am completely lost in my original otp, M/M, Reunion, Sex on the Beach, Smut, Unresolved Tension, canon divergence after 3x07, emotional/psychological hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James meets with Woodes Rodgers, but just when he thinks they are through Rodgers gives him a letter that James can't ignore.</p><p>Because the discussion of Thomas in 3x07 proved that I am still completely obsessed with James and Thomas reuniting, and that scene seemed like a good transition into that possibility.</p><p>Visit me on tumblr at iwtv2007.tumblr.com or my fic blog at flintfiction.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel You

\------------  
“From this moment on, any man participating in the act of high seas piracy will be presumed to be one of your men, an enemy of the state. I will hunt him, I will catch him, and I will hang him.”

He never took his eyes off Rodgers, meeting his challenge with the same icy stare despite the heat of the day. He stayed calm, waited.

Rodgers’ gaze never wavered, and he continued smoothly, “And while I am aware of your feelings on the subject, I am no backwater magistrate cowering in fear of you. You know where to find me.”

So there it was. He looked off to the side, needing a second of clarity away from Rodgers self-assured gaze. The man had left him no choice. War it was.

He gave the “governor” no more than a second’s glance before rising out of the chair and turning on his heel. He was halfway to the small launch that Joji and another crew member were hanging onto in the surf, waiting for him.

“Captain, another moment, please.”

He sucked in a small breath before turning. Now what?

Rodgers had stood and was leaning over his table, his gaze expectant. The soldier that was standing behind him—barely a boy of twenty, he figured— was approaching him, rifle still strapped around his back and a paper in his hand, held out as an offering. James eyed him warily, right hand automatically touching the hilt of his sword.

The soldier made no ill move against him but simply offered him the paper. James took it from him, narrowing his eyes enough to make the soldier grow visibly nervous as he turned and marched back to his governor.

Rodgers’ voice carried to him clearly on the wind.

“You may find that letter of particular interest, I should think. Before you leave.”

James nearly sneered at him, his patience wearing thin. He’d had plenty of his first impression of Rodgers and wished only to do everything in his power to defeat him. Now the governor wanted to play more games, it seemed.

Nevertheless he unfolded the letter, which was an expensive type of paper, not something common around the West Indies.

He recognized the handwriting right away. He knew it could not have been faked, even though his mind wanted to tell him that, but his body reacted differently. He turned away from Rodgers, his breath stopping altogether for several seconds. He forced his eyes to stop bleeding all over the page and concentrated on the words:

…should arriving later this week, I’m told. You still have not told me any details about Lieutenant McGraw’s circumstances and I beg of you, governor, to do so immediately upon my arrival.

I will be blunt, sir. I do not trust you, and I am not certain that I even trust your claim that the lieutenant is still alive. True, you petitioned the courts to secure my release from Bethlam and I now understand you to be well liked by London’s politicians. You’ll find that my own trust in such men to be quite lacking, as I’m sure you can understand by now. Be that as it may, you’ve convinced me to rendezvous with you, and I hope we can clear the air once and for all and that I can have some peace of mind.

\--T. Hamilton

A slight tremor appeared in his left hand as he clung to the letter, eyes blurring over the words. He hastily re-read it, still trying to comprehend. Thomas was alive?

He was alive, and coming to New Providence to meet with Woodes Rodgers.

He blinked, clearing his vision.

“Captain?”

Rodgers’ voice broke through his shock. He looked up to where Joji stood, now watching him carefully, no doubt registering the sudden change in his captain’s demeanor. His logical mind took over once again and James gave Joji the barest of nods. Joji returned it, his hand very discreetly wrapping itself over the butt of his pistol. He watched as the other crewman behind him did the same, face becoming somber as they waited their captain’s unspoken order.

James Flint licked his dry lips and turned back to where Rodgers waited patiently. He stood in front of the table now, hands behind his back. There was no trace of smugness or gloating written on his face, no smile to brighten the purplish scar that made its jagged way over his face. He looked like a wolf to James, calmly waiting for his prey to misstep.

James walked back towards him once he was certain he had himself in check. He looked at the governor and waved the letter in front of him.

“This is not forged,” he said by way of confirming his suspicion.

“It is not,” said Rodgers.

“And you think what?” asked James. “That his presence will allow you to manipulate me, influence me into slipping up and making a mistake?”

Now Rodgers did smile.

“I see you are far too clever for that,” he said. “However, I do believe that his presence will change things for you. I know how important he was to you. And it is clear from even the small amount written there that you are as equally important to him. So, he will meet with me in a few days’ time and together we will discuss the current situation, including you. Who knows, perhaps I will even convince Lord Hamilton to join me into fighting for this place, the way it should be fought for.”

The anger leapt up in James's throat like a wild cat and threatened to explode outward. He gritted his teeth together, jaw tight, lip curling upward at Rodgers. It caused a quick flash of genuine surprise—and a touch of fear—to seep through the governor’s blank expression before he recovered from it.

“Where’s the first half of the letter?” James demanded.

“Far away, safely secure on board my flagship,” said Rodgers.

James took a step towards him and the two soldiers tensed and immediately grabbed their rifles. James eyed each of them before setting his stony gaze on Rodgers. He kept his voice low so that only Rodgers could hear him.

“You will tell me where he was when this was written, or my men behind me will shoot both of yours before they can even aim those rifles. All I need do is to flick my wrist, and it’s done.”

Rodgers swallowed audibly. James saw his jaw tighten, the anger rising behind his eyes. But the fear had returned. His first impression of the man also revealed to James that Rodgers was no fool, and he wagered that his fear would govern him in the next few moments. He was right. Rodgers let out a long-suffering sigh and looked away from him.

“His ship was roughly two days away from the northeastern face of Eleuthera Island, 25 degrees latitude, when I received the letter, two days ago.”

James inhaled sharply.

“The ship’s name?”

“The Sea Lion.”

James quickly calculated. That meant in all likelihood that Thomas was less than a day away, probably just north of the narrow stretch of Eleuthera that lay parallel to New Providence.

He handed the letter back to Rodgers, who snatched it out of his hand. James turned on his heel once more.

“This gives you very little,” Rodgers yelled out to his back. “I still have the numbers and the advantage.”

“You said so yourself,” James snapped back over his shoulder, “This changes things.”

\-------------------

He left Rodgers and boarded the Walrus with his mind reeling, still trying to process it all. Thomas was *alive.* He repeated the words over and over in his head, trying to get used to them.

There were other developments that required his immediate attention, however. Vane had brought Anne Bonny aboard and had told him they didn’t get the gems. He’d been pissed, to say the least, but Charles had quickly explained to him why. By allowing Rodger’s soldiers to carry off the chest of gems without returning Rackham to them, everything appeared to be in the governor’s favor, allowing them more room to maneuver.

Charles’s logic was sound, so sound that James realized it might have been the most clever thing the other captain had ever created on his own. It gave him some small relief, knowing that for the time being Charles could be relied upon.

Once they had solidified more of their plan for gathering forces and invading, James gathered Silver and Billy Bones to the group and told them what had transpired on the beach. They all protested of course, baffled by his announcement to leave them on practically the eve of battle. Everyone except for Charles.

Vane regarded him with a slight smirk as they stood looking over the portside railing of the Walrus.

“I want to tell you it’s a fool’s errand,” he said. “That Rodgers is playing you. But you already know that possibility, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he replied evenly. “Just like I know you don’t have much room to talk about leaving this place for someone else.”

He hadn’t said it with malice; it was a simple statement. Vane nodded, cat-like eyes giving James a silent ‘all right then.’

“I should be back in time for everything,” said James, the potential lie rolling easily off his tongue. “No more than three days’ time. Until then, Mr. Silver speaks for me.”

He had a separate conversation with Silver about matters, who argued all the right points as to why it was a stupid idea for him to leave at all—all the same points James had already considered himself and had dismissed. Silver might be slowly untangling bits and pieces of him and James was letting him, but this was one area of his life Silver was clueless about. He left his quartermaster in charge, along with Vane, and set out.

There was no way to procure another ship he might take and no way to convince crew members to come with him even if there had been. So he took one of the launches, fitted its single mast with a sail and set off. He had haphazardly taken whatever food was stowed in his cabin and a canteen of water.

It was difficult to focus on particular things, even necessary things like food. His mind was flooded with images of Thomas, of the ‘what ifs’ and ‘might be’s’.

The trip to the island took a few hours, only half of which had a steady wind. He rowed the other half, arms burning with the workout. He tried to focus on it, on the rowing and his direction and the current and half a dozen other things he could do with little effort, anything to keep the torturous thoughts that swam in his head at bay. He tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach, that it was all a lie.

Yet the lie made less sense to James than the supposed truth. If Rodgers wanted him out of the picture, why not simply kill him outright? From what Silver had reported from the tavern, most of the island’s inhabitants still believed him dead anyway. With only two lone soldiers there, Rodgers could have done the deed.

James chewed that thought over until he had reached the island. Despite his doubts his heart started pounding in his chest. He sailed around to the northern side of the long, ribbon-like stretch of uninhabited land. From there he had a clear view of the open ocean; the perfect view to spot any approaching ship.

He made a few elliptical rounds to keep himself from drifting too far. The day wore on, fading into early evening with no sign of any sail.

He should have felt tired. He should have been hungry. He was neither. His stomach was a solid knot of nerves as the hours passed. He spotted a ship far off, but a look through the spyglass revealed it to be one of their own, flying the black.

Now he merely sat there, sail half furled, its position a reflection of his growing uncertainty. Did he stay after nightfall? Spend the night ashore or in the boat, straining to see the horizon, like some pining, half-addled fool? Or did he return to his ships and his men and the war that awaited them?

**Three months. Feels like twice as long.**

The sudden memory, the sound of those words as they left Thomas’s lips, hit him like a shot through his chest. He could wait a little longer.

It wasn’t too long. Shortly before sundown he spotted another ship. This one was headed towards him, her bow turning perpendicular with his current position. He waited, taking nervous drinks from the canteen as she approached. Jesus, had a ship ever sailed any slower?

At last it drew near but he couldn’t make out enough of its side to see a name. He could tell it was a merchant vessel and bore an English flag. It was also armed, as so many of them were nowadays.

By the time it was near enough for James to make his move, his heart felt like it was in his throat as the dull and chipped letters of ‘Sea Lion’ came into view.

He dropped sail and rowed directly in its path. He raised a white flag and waited. He reminded himself he’d done things just as crazed, that he had, in fact, made a career out of making half-mad ploys to get what he wanted.

He watched as the ship’s crew spotted him and slowed down their approach. James rowed up to her aft side, closest to him, his small launch rollicking in the ship’s wake. Men peered down at him from the railing.

“Do you require assistance?” one of them yelled.

He could tell even from a distance they were wary of him. But he was past his initial concern, now that the Sea Lion proved to be an actual ship and promised him so much he worried he might break completely this time if the promise was empty.

“I require only the knowledge of a passenger aboard,” he shouted back, hand cupped to his mouth.

The men looked nervously to one another, disappearing from the railing without another word. His chest dropped. Had they been able to tell he was a pirate? Something icy settled in the pit of his stomach.

This was Rodger’s plan, then. Of course. The men on board the Sea Lion were paid by Rodgers; he’d used Thomas against him, to purposefully lure him out here. His hand gripped the butt of his pistol. He strained his neck up, never taking his eyes off the railing.

A second later a new face appeared.

“I am Captain Landers,” the man said. “Before I assist you, I’ll warn you that this vessel is armed, and if you are a pirate raider and more of you lie in wait, we will resist you…”

James kept shaking his head and cut him off.

“I only wish to know if one of your passengers is Lord Thomas Hamilton,” he yelled.

“And what business would you have with such a man, if he exists?” asked Landers, still as every bit as suspicious.

James briefly closed his eyes, struggling to maintain his patience. He was at the mercy of this man and his crew and he needed to act accordingly. Then his eyes popped open as an idea struck him.

“Tell him—if he is there—that the lieutenant is here and wants to speak with him.”

Landers didn’t reply right away but instead spoke to the man who had come up next to him. They whispered in one another’s ear. Then the captain shouted curtly to him, “Give us a moment.”

He disappeared before James could say anything else. He still had no fucking clue what would happen. The captain’s demeanor gave nothing away. Either Thomas was on this ship, alive, or he was about to be blown out of the water.

He heard very faint bootsteps approaching again. The captain reappeared with his second man—his first mate, James guessed—and then a third man appeared. James’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the sandy blond hair and blue eyes looking down at him.

“Thomas,” he breathed so low only he heard it. He blinked. Everything else in the moment seemed to fall away—the rocking of the launch, his focus on balancing in it, the sound of a gull overhead and the voices of other men in the ship above him; all of it gone, sucked away as he focused solely on the face above him, so familiar and yet so strange.

He watched the stark change come over Thomas’s face, brows furrowing and jaw tight, then everything went slack, his lips parting, both his hands gripping the railing now.

“This is former Lord Thomas Hobbes,” said Captain Landers assuredly. “This is the only Thomas on board.”

Landers spoke directly to Thomas now.

“Do you recognize this man, Mr. Hobbes?”

Hobbes, James thought. Thomas Hobbes, Christ. Thomas had taken the name of one of their favorite writers. A sudden bout of emotion threatened its way up from the recesses of his battered soul. He forced it down again.

“Yes, captain,” Thomas replied after a long moment. “I do. He is an…old friend.”

Thomas had almost managed not to stumble over the words. Almost. The sound of his voice reached James’s ears, sounding frail and strained.

For his part Captain Lander’s countenance seemed to relax slightly. James struggled to find his voice again, shouting up, “If Mr. Hobbes so wishes, I’d like for him to join me. Now.”

Thomas’s eyes were boring into his own, paralyzing him, until Landers took Thomas by the arm and guided him out of James’s view. James sneered but remained frozen to the spot, eyeing the three other men who were strategically lined along the railing, watching him warily. He took note they all had one arm at their side, no doubt over their guns as he did.

The voices of both Thomas and Landers became audible, then turned into shouting for a brief minute before they reappeared.

“Very well…*lieutenant*,” said Hobbes, completely unconvinced of James’s title even though James had never meant to convince *him* in the first place.

“Mr. Hobbes has agreed to join you, but let it be known he does so against my personal opinion. If I or any of my crew sees you trying to harm Mr. Hobbes, we will consider you the pirate that you appear to be and will show no mercy.”

James said nothing and gave a curt nod. He waited with sweaty palms as a small launch was prepared and Thomas and another crew member were lowered down over the side. James took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself as Thomas came ever closer. At last the launch hit the water. James had already rowed the few yards to it. The crew member maneuvered the launch so that it touched sides with James’s and allowed Thomas to climb into it.

“Thank you, Mr. Gordon,” said Thomas. The man called Gordon nodded, eyeing James coldly. Thomas turned and looked straight at James for a fraction of a second before turning to sit himself down. He carried only a worn-down leather satchel thrown across his shoulder. He wore a loose white shirt and dull vest with breeches and none of the gentleman’s wardrobe James had grown so accustomed to.

James sat down and began rowing, badly wanting to be away from this ship and her captain. He was still half convinced Rodgers was somehow at work here and both he and Thomas would be blown out of the water any moment.

The Sea Lion remained anchored as he rowed them back towards the island. At some point Thomas had picked up the second set of oars and was rowing with him, but he was behind James and James could not see his face.

A part of him felt grateful. The more distance he put between him and the Sea Lion, the less he worried about an attack. However, he knew Thomas’s eyes were on him, knew how Thomas must be judging him. He had never worried about looking like a pirate, not in nearly ten years; it was simply part of who he was. Now, for the first time he felt self-conscious of it; his shorn hair, the way he kept his beard, his earring, even his fucking belt. God, how he must look to Thomas!

They made it to the island safely and in silence. As James jumped into the shallows to pull the boat ashore the Sea Lion at last had pulled up anchor and was on her way again, sails buffing out in the wind and turning northeast.

Wordlessly Thomas helped him tug the boat’s hull into the sand, letting go of it when James did. He stood several yards ahead of him, face to the sea as the merchant vessel grew smaller in the distance. James stood behind him, acutely aware that neither of them were interested in the departing ship, yet they watched it anyway.

During the early years of his stay in Nassau he’d imagined this moment, had fantasized about it to the point of obsession; what he would say to Thomas, what Thomas might say to him. A thousand things, whirling around aimlessly like grains of sand stirred up by the wind. It was Miranda who had carefully pointed out his obsession, had reined him in the way only she could. Miranda…

No. Not that. His throat tightened. The Sea Lion was far away now. A breeze stirred but did little to alleviate the sweat on his forehead and under his arms. It was Thomas who spoke first. He turned his head just enough for James to see his profile.

“When I received Governor Rodger’s letter, I scarcely believed any of its contents. I must have re-read it a dozen times. Then an official came for me, claiming to work for Rodgers. He told me I was to be released from Bethlam. I scarcely believed that, either, not after so many years.”

Thomas turned and glanced at him again, vivid blue eyes making James’s heart skip a beat. He looked away again. James followed the movement of his hand coming to twist the gold ring of his little finger, a familiar habit he did when he was excited or nervous.

“But then I *was* freed,” he continued at length. “Rodgers, it seemed, had powerful connections. He met me in London, before departing for here. He’s a clever bastard,” said Thomas with a tiny smirk. “Clever and determined. It was obvious he freed me because he wanted something from me. When I finally pressed the issue he opened up easily, though when he told me about you; that you were alive and were now the notorious pirate Captain Flint, I confess I became more than little irate.”

“Thomas—”

His voice was shaky and he was almost grateful that Thomas cut him off.

“Nevertheless he kept up his story, until he’d convinced me of its truth. I could see no lie in his eyes, his behavior. Yes, you were alive. I finally was able to believe in that. But I never believed the second half of his truth, that you had become this man who terrorized the West Indies, who raided villages, destroyed Charlestown. Now I am forced to see that as truth as well.”

Thomas turned to him, but despite his words James didn’t see any malice or disgust there. In fact Thomas was unreadable to him, and that scared the shit out of him even more. He took a deep breath.

“I *am* Captain Flint. Under the circumstances I needed to change my name, as you have. I had not intended on becoming a pirate. I had intended…”

He faltered, chest constricting again as all the old pain threatened again.

“…I had intended only to carry out our plan in the beginning,” he continued. “But I quickly found out that in this place piracy was the only way to do so. Somewhere along the way, I got…lost.”

He couldn’t say anymore, didn’t want to. He dragged his eyes up to meet Thomas’s. Worry lines appeared over the other man’s brows, sadness filling his gaze and causing a giant lump to form in James’s throat which stubbornly refused to go away.

Thomas looked at him up and down. He stepped forward but halted again. The distance between them was both comforting and agonizing to James so he simply stayed rooted to where he was.

“I got lost, too,” Thomas said. His voice was so low James almost hadn’t heard.

Another bout of silence stretched between them and James decided the best thing to do was to discuss the here and now and the future. That was* his* habit, after all, to thrust himself into what lay ahead rather than dwelling on what he’d left behind. He’d learned it so well, it was the reason why he was alone now, but what else could he do? What else could either of them say in this moment?

“What all did Rodgers tell you of his plans for New Providence?” he asked.

Thomas sighed and licked his lips. Some of the tension between them dispersed and Thomas moved closer to him.

James learned that Rodgers had been surprisingly honest with Thomas, though of course his version of things painted James and all his allies in the worst possible light, but Thomas was aware of that. Then Rodgers had appealed to his emotions, telling Thomas that he believed some part of James McGraw still existed and that if Thomas wanted to know for certain, he’d have to journey to the Bahamas and so on and so forth.

James explained things from his perspective as best he could, keeping his story in as straight a line as possible so as to avoid any opening that would give Thomas a reason to ask about anything pertaining to Charlestown or Miranda. Amazing he hadn’t already asked, but then James figured he must also be scared.

By the time they were ready to discuss what to do in the morning once they were on the Walrus it was well after dark.

“It gets chill at nights,” said James. “I’ll gather some brush and wood for a fire. Will you find us a spot for the night?”

He asked the question with a lilt in his voice, trying to further ease their collective stress. Thomas nodded but said nothing.

It took James a while to gather enough dry timber in the dark, but luckily the island had plenty of wood on this side of it. He always carried pieces of flint inside his belt or boots, since he’d found himself away from home and ship before. It took a frustratingly long time for any of the wood to catch a spark but at last it did and he quickly blew under it to keep it alight. The fire roared to life, casting a deep orange-yellow glow around them. Thomas sat down in the sand and James sat across from him. For some reason the fire’s light seemed to take the edge off and he was able to look more directly at Thomas without his heart going to his throat.

“Have you ever caught one of those tropical diseases I used to hear about?” Thomas mused after a few moments.

*No, but Miranda did once…*

He stopped his tongue before the words could come out. Damnit, but this was hard.

James told him no, then explained how people’s bodies built up defenses to such diseases after they’d spent enough time in the environment. That led to discussing more about the island, and then Nassau in particular and James clung to that, giving Thomas probably more detail then he wanted but at least it set up some comfort zone between them.

Inevitably, however, he finished his monologue, punctuated only sporadically with a comment from Thomas. James sighed. Suddenly remembering the supply of food and water in the boat, he climbed to feet and retrieved it. He offered Thomas some bread and cheese that Thomas accepted. In the dark Thomas’s fingers ran into James’s.

“Sorry,” Thomas muttered softly. James swallowed and said nothing.

They eventually made themselves more comfortable, lying down in the sand. It wasn’t comfortable at all but he was used to long periods without comfort, wasn’t he?

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” he asked as Thomas shifted about, coming to rest on his side and propping his head up on his elbow to face him without actually looking directly at him.

“Probably,” he answered. “I’m used to a stone floor in a cell, so this is paradise.”

James wasn’t sure if he’d meant it as dark humor or not, but he felt a prick over his heart at the mention of Bethlam Royal Hospital. So many things he wanted to say. His brain stumbled over responses; that he was so sorry Thomas had been taken there, that he must be so glad to be out of there, that he was sorry for never going to* get* him out of there…

James stopped that line of thought as quickly as he could, the lump in his throat returning.

“But you, you certainly seem to have acclimated to this place well enough,” Thomas said abruptly—too abruptly—and James was grateful for it. He felt Thomas’s gaze on him as he stared into the base of the fire, the cackle and hiss of wood lulling him into feeling his exhaustion at last.

“Yes, I suppose I did,” he replied softly. “I had a small advantage, being in the navy and having travelled here before. Though, it’s nothing like London.”

**Goddamnit.** He winced inwardly right after the words left his mouth and everything they implied.

“No, it certainly isn’t,” Thomas replied, also softly, voice so like the voice James remembered in his dreams that he knew he would not sleep a wink tonight.

He dozed on and off after that, with nothing but the sound of tree frogs and the dying fire around him. Yet he never truly feel asleep; the moment he did he would snap awake and look across the embers, afraid that the body there would be gone or that it had never been there at all. But Thomas was there, his white shirt almost glowing in the moonlight. He was very still and James thought him asleep.

“James.”

James turned and looked, surprised. *James.* He thought of Miranda. God, he was an asshole. Thomas needed to know, but he just couldn’t, not yet. And Thomas had not asked yet.

“Are you really going to do all those things you said after tomorrow? Rejoin those other men, your crew, and start a war?”

“There is no other choice at this point.”

Thomas said nothing and James struggled to see his face as the last of the fire died down, but Thomas was flat on his back, looking skyward as he spoke. He chose his words slowly, deliberately.

“And I am to join you on this crusade?”

James froze. Here it was at last. It was, after all, Thomas’s choice to join him, or he could just as easily walk away, back to civilization and propriety and all those things James could never be a part of again.

“Only if you want to.”

The words came out raw and harsh and felt like razors cutting into him. He heard Thomas shift. He sat up, legs partly crossed. James could make out two pinpoints of light in his eyes.

“James, I…”

He trailed off. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness James saw that same, unreadable expression on Thomas’s face. He now began to suspect that it was covering up something much more distressing underneath. His heart was at it again, racing in his chest at whatever Thomas wasn’t saying.

The silence was no more than a few seconds old but James felt as though it were tearing him apart. He rose swiftly, pushing himself to his feet and crossed over to where Thomas sat. He landed on his knees with a soft thud before him. Thomas looked at him almost fearfully, the worry lines returning. His lips parted slightly. James gathered his courage.

“All I ask is that you give me a chance,” he began. “To not judge me from what Woodes Rodgers has said or from what you’ve heard from others. I know it must be nearly impossible for you…to accept…*this.*”

He looked down and made an abortive gesture at himself, unable to express himself any better. Why was everything so fucking *hard?* He swallowed and continued, not looking up.

“But I swear to you, I’ll protect you if you join me.”

His insides twisted at the words. He had made that promise before, to Miranda; what on earth made him think he could keep it this time?

The air wasn’t cool anymore but hot and stuffy. His throat felt like it was closing up.

“James, stop.”

James looked up, chest heaving slightly. Thomas was watching him carefully, eyes full and…moist? He tentatively stretched an arm out and let his fingers touch James’s sleeve. James watched as they curled around his arm, lightly gripping it. Thomas’s hand was warm despite the chilled air. James’s own fingers danced softly over Thomas’s hand. Jesus, but it was agonizing. This was too much. He ought to change the subject, allow Thomas the rest of the night to think it over.

And then Thomas had moved closer to him, his other hand coming up to grab a hold of the front of James’s shirt and then Thomas was pulling on it and James was letting himself be pulled. Thomas’s lips parted again and this time there was no mistaking their intent and James met them with his own.

His lips were warm and dry and James let out a small noise. Thomas broke away but didn’t pull back. If James had felt like he was suffocating before, now he was positively breathless but didn’t want air. He leaned back in and closed the gap between them, taking Thomas’s mouth forcefully this time. Thomas made a sound, muttered some syllables, and then James tasted him as Thomas pushed his tongue past James’s lips.

The sensation ignited a passion James had not felt in years and he wanted to drown in it. Just like that.

Thomas’s hands were at his face, touches switching between loving caresses and something more urgent. James finally broke through the last barrier that was holding him in check. He reached up and ran his fingers through the soft, sandy blond hair. It felt exactly as he remembered, if not a bit longer and wilder but oh God…

“Jesus James,” Thomas breathed out over James’s lips.

They were pawing at each other now. Thomas let his hands roam over other parts of James, finding their way in and out of his shirt. Each time James felt Thomas’s skin over his own it sent pleasant jolts of heat through him. James matched his moves, hiking up Thomas’s shirt to get at the soft flesh of his stomach and chest, palms rubbing over his nipples and ribs and bellybutton and fucking hell, did it feel amazing.

Thomas was dominating, pushing him back as he poured kiss after kiss over his mouth and jaw and neck. James whimpered, letting himself be laid out flat. His lust was quickly becoming overpowering, but as he let Thomas loom over top him he felt the icy grip of terror close by. Thomas paused to look at him, eyes wide and clear, though his flushed cheeks and breathing betrayed the look of clarity.

James pushed back against his chest, holding him at bay. Thomas relented.

“Wait a moment,” James breathed. He felt light-headed. He closed his eyes, listening to their joint breathing. This was too much, too fast. Thomas’s voice came to him, suddenly contrite.

“I’m sorry.”

He felt Thomas leaving him, crawling off him and the warmth went with him. The sudden shock of it caused James’s eyes to pop open. No, no, no. He detested this empty space, the blackness of the sky and the blackness of the water all around them, contrasting with Thomas’s fair skin and white shirt and bright eyes.

He struggle up and grabbed for Thomas again, deciding that there were a thousand different ways a man could drown and that he would rather go to hell for deciding to drown in another man’s touch—perhaps even his love, still—than to drown any other way.

Thomas let out a little gasp as James took his lips again but quickly conceded to him, his hands coming up to James’s shorn hair to dig his fingers into his skull. James reached down between them and fumbled at Thomas’s pants, unbuckling his belt and then unlacing his fly. They both stood up haphazardly and Thomas wasted no time in going for James’s trousers, fingers moving much more deftly than his own. James quickly tugged off his boots and flung them aside, then jerked off his trousers. Thomas did the same. His erection bobbed over the edge of his shirt.

James’s stomach flipped at the sight and he grabbed Thomas’s sleeve and crushed the taller man’s body to his own. Their erections pressed up together. Thomas forced his tongue inside James’s mouth like a wild animal, hand coming to stroke his cock.

James no longer tried to impede the noises of pleasure that rose up in him. He moaned and hummed at Thomas’s touch, fingers curling themselves into the back of his hair and pulling slightly.

Thomas bent his head and sucked on his neck, licking here and there eagerly. James felt the strong pull of his arm muscles as he tugged at his cock, which was stiff and swollen and aching already.

He pushed Thomas back, steadying him, and took a few steps to swipe up his coat from the sand. He shook it and spread it out flat on the sand beneath them.

“Lie down,” he said, shocked at how full of sex his voice was.

Thomas met his gaze evenly for the first time since leaving the Sea Lion. The look went straight to his cock. He grabbed hold of James’s sleeve as though it were a life raft, pulling him down with him.

James waited a beat until Thomas was flat on his back, then he straddled him, hiking his shirt up to his chest and staring blatantly at the smooth and lean body underneath, bluish in the moon and starlight. He grabbed Thomas’s cock and gave it a few quick and hard strokes. Thomas’s eyes closed and his face contorted.

“Uhhnnh,” was all he managed to utter. Then, “James, please.”

James stuck his middle and ring finger in his mouth and sucked on them, spreading his saliva. Then he arranged them over Thomas’s hole and pushed, one at a time.

Thomas’s eyes popped open, an arm sliding itself over his head as he writhed against the contact. James bent over him, lining his body over Thomas’s as best he could. Fucking hell.

Thomas contracted over his finger. James wiggled it, opening him. He very carefully inserted the second finger, pushing both fingers further into Thomas. Thomas’s lips captured his own again, much more desperately this time. James watched as the blond contorted and grinded under him. His own cock felt like it was absolutely throbbing.

He worked Thomas open, becoming fixated on the pleasure he was giving the other man. Thomas crooked his legs at the knees and spread them as far as he could. James kneeled so he could focus on his fingers. He fucked into Thomas, pumping his fingers quickly so that Thomas would jerk and mutter curses, face flushed red, then he slowed down and wiggled them.

His wrist began to burn but he ignored it. It frightened him, how much he needed this and had not even been aware of it. It became all too easy to forget what one missed, so long depraved of it.

Thomas lifted his head and looked at him through a haze.

“Now,” he begged in a shaky voice.

Somehow James mustered enough of his wits to ask, “Are you sure?”

Thomas nodded venomously, lips parting again as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

James slid his fingers out and lined up his cock to Thomas’s hole. He pushed his head in, watching Thomas as his face contorted again, hands becoming fisted balls in James’s coat. James pushed halfway in and paused, trying to catch his breath. God, how he was starved for this, how he fucking needed this, needed Thomas.

There had been plenty of opportunities in the last ten years, but he had always known that none of them could even come close to this, with Thomas Hamilton.

He bent over Thomas again, arms bracketing either side of him as he gently thrusted inside until Thomas’s face went slack and was nothing but pleasure.

James let out an unsteady breath as he pushed his cock in up to its root inside Thomas and stilled. Thomas looked up at him and *voila,* there was the man he’d fallen in love with at last, buried under all the scarred layers of God-knows-what, just like he was.

“Thomas,” he whispered, bending to Thomas’s ear because he was afraid of the look on his own face, of his own want.

Thomas’s arms wrapped themselves around him, bare heels of his feet doing the same. James thrusted into him, setting a steady pace. He closed his eyes and marveled at the feel of it, of how Thomas shaped and squeezed around him, of the velvety warmth there.

Everything quickly became a hot, blurry mess. Thomas kept touching him, hands running themselves over his ribs and arms and shoulders, squeezing here and there and telling James exactly what he liked, as he used to.

And James did his best to remember; rolling his hips, pulling almost completely out and then ramming himself back inside, which nearly sent Thomas over the edge. But that was all right because he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

He pushed himself up on his palms to get a stronger angle and fucked Thomas harder. Thomas moaned loudly, arching his body like a cat into James. James’s cock felt like it was pulsating within him. He grunted with the effort, pushing himself as far into Thomas as he could go, never wanting it to end but all the while feeling the white-hot pressure building.

“James,” Thomas squeaked out, eyes screwed shut and fingers curling painfully around his biceps.

James threw back his head and let out a long, low groan as his climax washed over him violently, rolling out from his stomach and to his cock. He shot his cum into Thomas and Thomas crushed himself into it. Moments later he heard Thomas keen. He opened his eyes to watch as Thomas exploded in his own hand, funneled over his cock.

Completely lost, James bent down and licked and sucked it off him, reveling in the taste and touch and sounds of nothing but Thomas. Thomas’s hands caressed his head. He murmured little noises of pleasure as James finished cleaning him.

When he finally sat up he saw that dawn was breaking over the horizon, casting everything in a dim gray hue. Everything looked and felt different. As the haze of sex wore off James felt a stab of self-consciousness. Neither had said anything to the other, and James stood and turned towards the sea as he put his trousers back on. He heard Thomas shuffling around behind him; the clack of buckles. Now what?

James turned back, wanting to go to him, needing to touch him again. But Thomas had left the spot on his coat and to James’s dismay he was standing in the exact same spot as before, back rigid and facing away from James. James watched him, studying his figure and his naked back, shirt lying rumpled and forgotten in the sand. He still looked like Thomas, sounded like Thomas. But there was an incalculable difference. Ten years, he told himself. Ten years, and the weight of so many unpleasant things, he knew, hung in the space between.

Again, he found himself rooted to the spot, wanting to go to Thomas and yet afraid to. Only now he found he was losing the battle inside himself, and all those unpleasant things that had been created in the wake of losing Thomas were warring against the happiness he felt at having him back—the loneliness, the longing, the rage, all of it.

Thomas moved to loosely cross his arms behind his back, palm open and almost inviting to James. Hesitantly James came up behind him, inches away, and gently brushed his hand into the other man’s. Thomas’s shoulders moved as he inhaled, then he curled his fingers around James’s. James shifted so that he could intertwine their fingers and Thomas pulled his arm to wrap around his waist, still silent as the grave.

Everything swelled up to painful levels inside his chest. The lump in his throat had returned, this time with tears stinging his eyes. Fuck.

He swallowed hard and rested his forehead between Thomas’s shoulder blades. There was no stopping it now; a vicious little tidal wave of feelings crested up and crashed over him and he pressed himself into Thomas’s back, tears finding their way down his cheeks as he struggled not make a sound.

Thomas’s grasp on him became stronger, his hands pulling on James’s arms tightly and possessively. James squeezed his eyes shut until he saw white lights, wiling the tidal wave to ebb away. He sobbed, letting out shaky breaths and refusing to lose it completely. His tears fell onto Thomas’s back, hot and salty. Thomas clung to him, making a small sound and James realized he was struggling just as much.

He got a hold of himself, his eyes slowing drying out and his sobs dispersing, until he finally pulled away. Thomas reluctantly let him go, then turned to face him.

His eyes were rimmed red but he was smiling.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For nothing. For everything. I’m just…so sorry, James.”

James shook his head quickly, his vision blurring again.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Thomas looked less than convinced but he smiled anyway.

James licked his lips, tasting salt. He looked at the coming dawn as it drew up around them, the sky now a paler gray as the sun began to climb over the sea.

“So…is that a yes?” he asked slowly.

Thomas cocked an eyebrow.

“You still haven’t said if you will join me,” James clarified, voice still raw.

“Ah.”

Thomas placed his palm against James’s breast very tenderly, as though he would shatter like glass.

“Of course I will go with you. You think all I wanted was a rough and tumble on the beach?”

Thomas smiled warmly at him. James could not help but to smirk, his heart finally easing into a normal rhythm; the suffocating feeling disappearing as well.

“There’s much we need to talk about,” he said carefully, “But I cannot, not yet.”

“Neither can I.”

No tension now, just simple statements of fact from each of them.

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting the sky in a brilliant morning yellow-blue and giving color back to the ocean. James was grateful for it, glad to be rid of the night and to truly *see* Thomas for the first time.

They finished dressing and ate, then readied themselves to return to New Providence and all the turmoil that awaited them there. He didn’t have the slightest clue what he was going to tell everyone, nor how, exactly, Thomas would fit in. So many things he did not yet know, yet he’d figure it out; he always did. He’d been gifted more time with something precious, and all else was just shadows and dust.


End file.
